


Touch Point

by AlamoGirl80



Category: Bones
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-24
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlamoGirl80/pseuds/AlamoGirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What can the simplest touch convey? Booth and Brennan could tell you...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer**: Bones, and all of its characters, are the property of Josephson Entertainment, Far Field Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. It's based off the writings and life of forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs, no infringement is intended by this work of pure fiction, for the entertainment of the readers and author. No money is being made, though I could sure use some cash right now. My stash of caffeine is getting low…
> 
> Author Note - This is my first attempt at writing for the Bones fandom. I waited to the worst possible time to get hopelessly hooked on the series – three episodes from the end of season – so bear with me. I'm still learning the ins and outs of the show, and the Booth/Brennen connection, until I can see the re-runs. This is just something short, to let me stick my toe in the fandom, test the waters. I adore the show, the science, the squickyness, the tension and angst.(I'm an angst queen, fair warning) I plan on writing a longer, multi-chapter story for Bones soon, but for now, please enjoy this first attempt and let me know what you think! Please! I need to know if I've captured the characters and the feel of the show, if I am to take on a longer fic later. Reviews feed the soul!
> 
> Spoilers: After _Soldier on the Grave_ and _Woman in Limbo_.

Nighttime at the Jeffersonian usually gave the building an ambiance of tranquility. The labs, meeting rooms, and offices were deserted – the cool hued lighting bounced off the exposed pipe-structure of the ceiling architecture, making the skylights seem darker than dark, as if the Plexiglas panes were the only thing separating the interior of the labs from the depthless cold of space itself. The hallways were vacant, the only occasional sound of footsteps coming from one of the night guardsmen or a lab assistant burning the midnight oil for their teacher.

Being an open-air design, the Medico-Legal lab picked up every chink of keys rattling, every footfall bounding off the empty spaces – creating echo effects. Some people might have found this eerie or spooky – being alone in that huge building at night, with only the sounds of computers and the errant echo for company.

Dr. Temperance Brennan found it quite soothing. There, in her office with the back-lit bookshelves filled with ancient pottery, ceremonial masks and other trinkets brought back from her various globe-trotting expeditions – Brennan could work in peace, enjoying the serenity of the lab without the worry of intrusion. Flipping a lock of auburn hair out of her eyes, and sighing, Brennan stared at the same page on her computer screen she’d been looking at for over an hour. The only thing typed was a measly paragraph of her next manuscript, one she had started on shortly before finishing her latest book. Said finished manuscript was sitting on her desk next to the keyboard, with the title conspicuously crossed out.

“It _was_ a stupid title,” she muttered.

Leaning her chin wearily on her hand, Brennan glazed over the paragraph she’d written. Her “fictional” Detective-heartthrob had just finished a heated argument with Kathy over a case, which had ended in a very hot, very passionate kissing session. For the life of her, Tempe couldn’t understand where that scene had come from.

She ran a hand over her face and sighed again. Well…maybe she _could_ understand. Her character Andrew, had been trying to get Kathy to see his point of view, and had, in a fit of the moment, reached out to stroke Kathy’s face with both hands.

_Touch_. Brennan’s mind unwillingly returned to a couple of weeks prior, when she had been sitting with Angela, going over the scenes of what had turned out to be a horrible case of friendly-fire – and as always, their conversation turned to one tall, dark, and contumacious Seeley Booth. For the first time, Brennan had seen a side of Booth she was unfamiliar with, a side that was desperately trying to hide from the ghosts of his past, which were intruding on his ability to properly work a murder case. He was hurting, and Brennan found herself hopelessly out of her emotional league.

Angela, perceptive as usual, hadseen her friend struggling with the need to help her hunky partner, but not knowing how to go about doing it. So, she’d offered a simple piece of advice, one that had made Brennan initially balk and retreat to a safer position of writing a note to _articulate_ her feelings. ‘_How lame was that idea?’_ Brennan thought ironically.

“_A simple touch…”_

Brennan sat back in her chair, swiveling to look out over the lab room, now darkened and deserted, but sporadically glowing in areas by the odd computer screen saver. How could a simple touch mean so much? True to form, Temperance Brennan’s brain attacked the ideas plaguing her weary brain like the scientist she was. From an anthropological view, Bren knew that touch was very important to the social and emotional development of human beings.

From infanthood, touch was essential in the bonding experience between mother and child. Touch has a nurturing effect. To comfort. To calm. Even into adolescence and pre-adulthood, the use of touch, as Brennan knew from her studies (if not from actual experience) – is used to solidify trust between two people. It opens the lines of communication, promotes intimacy…all of the experiences Temperance Brennan knew all too well, she was sorely lacking in.

Brennan angled her head to look upon her computer screen again, and frowned at that thought. It wasn’t as if she’d never felt those things. She’d had a family…once. Quickly, Brennan shoved that line of thought back into the murky depths of her psyche. She didn’t need to pour salt in that knitting wound. It was still too fresh.

She’d been in relationships that had those types of elements in them, hadn’t she? Brennan’s frown deepened.

“_Well, I wouldn’t really go that far in regards to Michael,”_ She thought wryly. Michael had been her teacher, her mentor. Maybe that had been the beginning of the attraction between them – more about their abilities and interests than anything involving the heart. And he’d lied to her.

There goes the _trust_ thing…

And what about David? Could she say that his touch evoked those emotions defined by socio-psychological study guides?

Brennan thought back to that day in Arlington Cemetery, when her partner had allowed his walls to crumble and given her a glimpse into his ghosts from the past. She’d never expected him to tell her what his past had done to his soul. Not like that. She’d even given him an out, saying that when he was ready, he’d tell someone…someday.

But Booth had chosen her…and Brennan wasn’t prepared for the emotional assault on her senses his revelation wrought. His pain seeped into her skin, like the heat from a summer day, and made her chest seize. And seeing her partner in this way, a man she cared for…more deeply than she realized, Brennan stepped out of the confines that she usually hid her feelings behind, reached out and grasped his arm.

Brennan closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the moment Booth put his hand on hers, squeezed it slightly and looked into her eyes. Gratitude glittered behind the unshed tears – and Bren knew what her touch had meant to him. Comfort, compassion…_caring_. Everything she’d hoped to convey was all right there in that simple touch. ‘_Was that what Angela meant?’_

Brennan ran her hands through the sides of her hair, and heaved a sigh that felt like it came from her toes up. Whatever it was about Seeley Booth, that made her spend time and precious energy on this type of introspection – she couldn’t hope to comprehend. No matter how much she might want to.

\-------------------

After sitting, staring unseeing at the same small paragraph on her computer screen for an immeasurable amount of time, Brennan heard purposeful footsteps enter the lab. She shook her head slightly, allowing an ironic smile to grace her lips. The object of her over analytical thoughts was now at her office door, his presence wafting into the room, strong and confident.

Agent Seeley Booth stood at Dr. Brennan’s door, leaning a broad shoulder against the frame casually. Always able to balance on the rope of professional attire, and expensive style, Booth wore his usual well-cut grey suit – his coordinating tie now absent from his deep blue dress shirt, the top few buttons undone. It was late, and though his clothing and air about him still conveyed that he could snap back into the proficient agent everyone (especially himself) knew he was, should duty call – the strain and length of the day still shown in the slight rumple of his shirt and the fatigue in his face. His eyes, however, still sparkled with intelligence and a bit of mischief as he stared at his partner.

“Bones,” he admonished gently, “I know you’re all about ‘_staying at it ‘til the job is done’_ and everything…but this is getting ridiculous. I mean, why pay rent for an apartment? You should just install a kitchenette, haul your clothes over here to your office…get it over with.”

Brennan turned in her chair to face the tall, cocky agent – who was now gazing gently at her with a bemusedly concerned look. His dark eyes seemed to bore holes in her soul, as they always did when he was worrying about her.

Brennan replied, tilting her head, “There’s a kitchenette down the hall for employee use. And even though my clothing couture isn’t as extravagant as say… Angela’s… I doubt there is sufficient closet space here.”

“I was kidding Bones.”

She blinked once. Booth’s tone was still soft, yet his expression wasn’t as mirthful as she expected. “Oh.”

Seeing that he’d caught her off-guard, Booth smiled tiredly, shaking his head at the look on her face. It was a true ‘Bones’ look – one that told him his mock-serious jibe about her giving in to the fact that she _lived_ at the lab, flew right over his partner’s head. And…he couldn’t help the thought that tickled his senses, that she was just too cute with that oblivious, slightly naїve ‘_oh!-I-knew-that’_ expression. Booth pushed that unpartner-ish thought to the back of his mind, grudgingly.

Hands shoved into his pockets, he looked over Brennan’s shoulder. “Oh…starting on your new book? Can I see?” He asked with renewed enthusiasm.

Ever since he’d snuck a glace at Bones’ finished manuscript, and had seen – much to his surprise and heart-warming delight, that it had been dedicated to _him_…Booth wanted to know if Bones had let anything else about him slip into her new work.

“Nope,” Brennan said succinctly, turning to click her monitor off and saved her information.

“Aw, c’mon Bones! Just a little…oh… oh, okay... then let me read your finished book.” Booth started to reach for her manuscript mid-plead, but she snatched it out of his grasp and locked it in a desk drawer. “Jeeze! You let _David_ read it!” He’d strung out David’s name, as though it were the title of some indescribably stupid sub-species of human. A tone that did not go unnoticed by Brennan.

“I said it before Booth, leave it alone,” she said in exasperation. “You’ll get to see it when it comes out.”

Booth narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “You’ve already started out your new book with some incredibly sexy scene with my character, haven’t ya? Huh?”

Brennan rolled her eyes, hoping the small blush creeping into her cheeks would come out looking like frustration, more than that fact that Booth had hit the nail on the head. Again.

“You are so full of-…it’s not _your_ character, Booth!” She said, trying to feign more frustration. The smile spreading over her partner’s face was making that very hard, however.

Booth beamed. “Uh-huh. Right.” He shifted his weight, leaning a hand on Brennan’s desk, and looking over at her with a brow raised. “On a scale of one to ten…how good was I? My character…in your latest sex scene? A nine? Nine and a half?”

Brennan sighed and rose, beginning to gather her things together to leave before Booth embarrassed her into a flame-blushing idiot.

“Ten...?” Booth’s eyes grew wide, now wondering exactly what kind of scene Brennan had in mind for, what was clearly _HIS_ character, which was causing her to visibly squirm. And blush. ‘_A very attractive reaction’_, his mind chirped.

“Is there a reason you are here this late?” Bones said finally, fixing him with a glare.

Booth swallowed the chuckle that was threatening, “I wanted to come check on you, Bones.” At Brennan’s subtle shift of weight, slightly unnerved, he quickly added, “Ah-and to take you to eat. At Wong Foo’s. Whata’ya say?”

As he watched Brennan vacillate from accepting to refusing, looking around her office for some other work-related excuse to shut herself off from the world (and him), Booth sighed deeply. He’d spilled the truth in the beginning; he was there to check on her. His partner had invaded his thoughts almost non-stop since they’d worked on her mother’s case. He’d seen Temperance Brennan more vulnerable then, than any other time since they met. Even after he’d saved her life in that warehouse, and she’d clung to him like he was her only lifeline, she hadn't seemed this exposed. Brennan’s beliefs about who she was had been shaken to the core - her tightly constructed, ordered world had come tumbling down about her – and she’d nearly lost herself. Truthfully, it had scared the hell out of Booth. He’d hated seeing her hurting, but what scared him the most was the thought that _he_ might not be able to protect her from whatever ugly truth was behind her parent’s past.

And protecting his partner had become an overwhelming instinct lately for Booth. He couldn’t bear the thought of Brennan dangling on the end of a rope of memories and painful revelations – without anyone there to grab her hand. Without _him_ there to scoop her up, and carry her to safety.

‘_She brings out that White-Knight complex in you, big time,’_ that annoying voice in his head murmured.

He didn’t care. She’d been there for him when he needed it – an experience burned into his soul for the rest of his life – and even if she resisted his help, he’d still move heaven and earth to be there for her. It was his nature.

“Bones,” he said softly again, stepping around her desk to face her, “You need to get out of here. You’ve been staying here at your office almost constantly, since Russ left your place. You need to get out and socialize again…get your mind off…things.” He finished lamely.

He followed Brennan’s down-cast eyes to an object on her desk. A small, rusty belt buckle carved in the shape of a graceful dolphin sat near the edge of the desk. Images and conversations of her mother’s case rushed through Brennan’s mind like a torrent. She closed her eyes at the renewed pain, and Booth struggled to find lighter words, around the lump that had found its way to his throat.

Brennan looked back up at her partner, his eyes revealing shared sadness and worry, his brows furrowed.

“I guess I could eat. But still, Chinese this late at night again? You really are trying to make me fat, Booth.”

Booth’s face melted into his aptly named ‘charm smile’, ducking his head somewhat as he sidled up beside her.

“Never gonna’ happen, Bones.”

Brennan eyed him with a small smile, as they made their way to the door.

“C’mon. A brew…some noodles…what better way to end the day?” He said, as his arm wound around behind her, his hand finding its customary place at the small of her back, gently guiding her with him.

A small shiver rippled up Brennan’s back at that _touch_ – a tiny prick of intrigue accompanying it.

\------------------

Wong Foo’s was dimly lit with little paper lanterns stung on light strings, reds and golds throwing splashes of color across the mahogany wood of the bar and tables. Despite the late hour, Wong Foo’s always seemed to attract a few of the night owls – mostly those who worked for the government. Only four or five people populated a table and a booth at that hour, content to ignore the world for their own conversations and drink – when Booth and Brennan walked in.

Sid, the barrel-chested owner and bar tender greeted his two regulars – immediately bringing them their drinks of choice: a beer for Booth, red wine for Brennan. Famous for knowing exactly what his customers need, what they’re best food choice should be without asking – Sid eyed the two war-weary partners for a moment, figuring that they both had been through the wringer lately, and shuffled off to get their meals. Before he disappeared, however, Sid stole a glance at Booth and Brennan, seated on their favorite stools, both with their coats slung over the chair backs. He noticed how Mister Stone-Cold-Badass-FBI was sneaking concerned glances at the lovely Bones-lady – and grinned. Yep, he knew it.

‘_Partners ONLY, my ass,’_ Sid thought as he went to the kitchen.

The food was hot and spicy, and the wine was smooth. Brennan found herself grateful Booth had maneuvered her into accepting his dinner offer. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was, and as she sipped her wine – she was a tiny-bit surprised that she couldn’t remember the last time she ate! Maybe Booth was right, maybe she had been working too hard.

But it hadn’t all been about her parents, though. After they’d finalized the paperwork on McVicker as responsible for her mother’s death, and the chills of the ghostly voice of her father and his cryptic warning had subsided – life had pretty much went on as usual. New cases came in, other remains were identified…endless mounds of paperwork, and not to mention…her new book that had to be started. She was busy, that’s all. Shouldn’t Booth be happy for her, that she was able to move on with her work and not linger over things that couldn’t be changed right now? Besides, if she let herself think about it too much, Brennan knew she’d loose herself in the abyss of trying to find her father…and the sorrow their lies brought bubbling to the surface.

Booth could see that the wine and food was doing Brennan some good. Her shoulders seemed less tense, and the lines around her brows smoothed. The beer wasn’t hurting him either, after all tedium of paperwork, with the odd case here and there thrown in. Feeling more inclined to talk, he tried to engage Brennan in some idle chat for a while, though most of it inevitably circled right back around to work.

“So…,” He said, after the plates had been removed, and he stretched his arms, giving Bones an impressive display of his well-built biceps through his dress shirt, “Heard from Russ since he got back home?”

Brennan toyed with the stem of her wine glass. “Twice. He’s been busy finding jobs that require his mechanical skills, and …he’s got his girlfriend.”

Booth noted how her voice seemed to dip somewhat when she mentioned that Russ had someone to share his life with. There was an almost imperceptible envious tint to it – and he nodded, looking back to his beer.

“Well that’s good. I mean, it’s good that he’s got his girlfriend to keep an eye on him.” He fumbled.

Brennan looked up. “Why would he need her to keep an eye on him? It’s not as if he’s not a grown man.”

Booth quirked a smile, giving her a look that was trying to lighten the mood – get her to open up a bit. “Aw, you know what I mean, Bones. It’s nice to have someone who’s there for you, when you come in from a hard day. Or when something bad has happened,” his face fell somber, pinning her with a meaningful gaze, “And you need someone to lean on.”

Brennan balked from the gaze first, trying to hide the lump in her throat by swallowing some wine. So, that is what he was getting at with all the innocuous chatter. He was trying to see if she was somehow still a wreck after the events of her mother’s case.

‘_Apparently, he doesn’t think you can recover from an instance of vulnerability. We caught the guy who killed my mother, for the love of God! You move on! I can’t do anything about my father right now anyway…what does Booth want of me! To breakdown into some psychosomatic puddle of weakness? As if there aren’t other victims out there who need my help in identifying?’_

Brennan felt the sting of the wounds on her heart from misplaced trust, and even though she seemed to be rebuilding a connection with her brother, she would continue to guard her feelings as much as possible. Even when it came to Booth. Or perhaps, especially when it came to her partner – who was watching her with depthless empathy. She couldn’t appear weak in front of him again…not so soon. She wasn’t some pitiful maid, dependant on others for her emotional support all the time. And besides, if Booth was hinting she needed to get herself a man…she had David, didn’t she?

Fixing her emotions behind her practiced mask, Brennan turned back to Booth and said, “Having to constantly look for approval and support from others, instead of finding it within you, doesn’t make for a strong character, Booth. If Russ needs that, it’s fine. Life goes on -you deal…its-its _fine_.” Her voice was stony, but it was her next sentence that cut through Booth’s chest like an ice-pick. “Besides, if you are hinting that I need to get out and find myself someone to come home to…_to lean on_, as you say, like Russ, I already have. I’m seeing David.”

As the words slipped from her mouth, Brennan was shocked by the display of emotions that washed across her partner and _friend’s_ face. She’d hurt him. Badly.

Booth felt like he’d been gut-punched. He’d been trying to get her to open up emotionally to him, even more than she had those nights at her apartment over Chinese during the case. He wanted to know that she was healing on the inside, not just the front she was putting up by diving head-long back into her work. More than that, Booth had wanted her to know that if she did need someone, to tell her feelings to, or to lean on when things looked hopeless, that he was there for her. She could trust him.

But this scathing backlash was not what he’d bargained for. He knew Bones well enough to expect her to tell him ‘everything was fine, not to worry’ – he was prepared for that. But to be told she considered him replaced… and by that boring little piss-ant David, during a time when he was the only one who understood what she was going through, who knew the case… _Who knew Temperance the way he did!_ Booth felt like a sniper bullet had just ripped through his heart.

Swallowing thickly, he nodded slowly, and tried to huff a small, nonchalant laugh. It came out more strangled, rather than unaffected.

“I…uh…I see. Sounds like you, uh…you got it all handled then.” Booth shifted away from her, making ready to leave. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened as he stared straight ahead.

Brennan’s eyes widened in dismay, realizing the impact of her words. God, she was such an idiot! “Booth…I…”

“You’d better get home. Wouldn’t want David to worry.” Booth all but growled.

Brennan knew she’d screwed up. Here was a man, who cared about her, probably more than she realized or understood, who had just laid out the welcoming mat her to open herself up to – and she’d reached in and slammed the door back in his face. What was worse, bringing David into it was a lie. She only saw him off and on, and wasn’t sure you could call that “dating”. He didn’t know much about her mother’s case, or any others for that matter. In truth, David was the last person she’d confide in about case work…or her past. Booth knew it all already. She could trust him with her life (and had on more than one occasion)… so why couldn’t she bring herself to trust him with her emotions?

“Booth wait.” Her voice was stronger now, pleading.

He paused, still unable to look at her; the pain he knew was showing was too raw right now.

“God, I’m sorry Booth. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I’m trying really hard to move on after my mother’s case. After all those years of not knowing…wondering why they did what they did, then to have all their lies thrown back in my face. I don’t….” she struggled, “I didn’t know how to deal with it. So I went back to work. It’s what I know…it works for me. I would have never found my mother’s murderer or any of the information about my parents…without you, Booth. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Booth listened to the sincerity in her voice, bringing himself around finally to face her. He saw her struggling with herself, her eyes telling volumes about the pain and fatigue the last few weeks had wrought on her. The anger and stinging hurt began to melt away as he realized, this was her way of letting him get a glimpse inside Temperance Brennan. He could work with that.

“And as for David,” she started, noticing the tension in the muscles of Booth’s broad shoulders at the sound of the name, “I barely ever see him. He’s not waiting at home for me. In fact, he told me once that he should get used to not even waiting by the phone for me to call. Something about how you seemed to be able to snatch me away for days at a time.”

Booth grinned softly, a touch of self-satisfied smugness tinting the smile. ‘_At least the guy was starting to learn Who was running things and which guy had rightful claim on Bones’ time…’_ the macho-testosterone soaked side of his brain said.

Bones missed the cockiness returning to her partner, as she looked away in thought for a moment. “I don’t know what he meant by that though, he knows my work often entails days of investigation, testing, identifying evidence on bodies…you and I interrogating suspects.”

“Uh, _I_ do the interrogating, Bones. I _let_ you tag along…remember?” Booth interjected.

“And sometimes,” she continued as Booth gathered his coat up, helping Brennan on with hers, “We get caught up in following leads that might take us out of town for a while, but that’s all part of putting the bad guys away.”

“Uhm…Bones? Actually …_I_ put them away, you just ID the evidence, remember?” He tried again.

“We _cuff_ them and _stump_ them.” Brennan said with a confident smile. “All part of the job!”

Booth snorted that time, guiding her toward the door, “That’s ‘Cuff ‘em and Stuff ‘em’ Bones…and, seriously…_you_ don’t do that. I’m the one with the cuffs. And the gun…” He tilted his head toward her, as she glowered up at him while he corrected her. “And the badge.” He added with a wink.

“You take conceited joy in throwing that all back in my face, don’t you?”

“Why… yes I do, Bones.” Booth said jovially, grateful for the return to their normal banter.

His hand stole around her again, resting on her back.

Brennan felt it, warm and strong. This time she allowed the spark of intrigue grow as she analyzed this type of touch. Booth had always done this with her, guiding her with his hand, on her back or shoulder – but she’d never really taken time to think about it. It was a constant. A shielding and possessive act, meant for only her. Scientifically, Brennan knew that this was a subtle dominant male way of staking claim – showing others that she, in essence, belonged to him. That thought tickled a more primitive area of Brennan’s psyche – the part that liked the idea of a big, strong, alpha male showing through a physical action, that she was special to him.

The more practical side said this was just Booth’s way of being friendly. But, after everything that had happened lately, this gesture seemed to have a more intimate feel – a small way for Booth to let Brennan know ‘_I’m here, beside you. And I always will be’_.

Brennan shooed that thought away as being a bit too schmaltzy for her. It was just a way for him to solidify his presence to her. Stolid. Protective.

She smiled to herself as Booth navigated the huge SUV through traffic to bring her home. Those were good descriptions of Seeley Booth. Predictably, Bones’ mind clicked back into logical-scientist mode, running over what she’d learned so far about the act of touch between two partners.

But, if the simple act of his hand on her lower back could mean so much…what could all the others indicate?

**TBC…in Part II**


	2. Part II

Every now and then, Booth allowed himself to take a few moments to hang back…and just watch. While a case was literally on the table, he usually made every effort to be in the thick of it, listening to Brennan’s descriptions (even though for the most part, it’s all gibberish to him), watching the ‘Squint Squad’ do their magic. Honestly, he had to admit, what they did with evidence and remains really _was_ magic – even though he often badgered their techniques and scoffed at their efforts. But when it came right down to it, his Squint Squad was an invaluable asset – especially with one Temperance Brennan at the helm.

But there are times, when Booth ascends the steps to the upper level of the lab - where Brennan and her associates are bent over magnifying glasses and computer screens – that he lets himself stand quietly in the background of the bedlam and observe. A new case had arrived; bringing with it a pitiful jumble of bones that had been found in the hollow of an elm tree at one of the many parks outside D.C – and Booth found himself, again, standing back and watching his partner weave her spell.

Brennan leaned over the lighted table, a magnifier in one hand, and part of what Booth guessed to be the forearm of the body, in the other. Her hair was swept back in a messy tail, stray locks of auburn hair falling around her face - which was showing nothing but the epitome of concentration. Booth watched her as she delicately, almost reverently held each bone to the magnifier, studying them for fractures or debris. He was amazed how meticulous she could be one moment, then break the silence to call her underling Zack Addy over to inspect something she’d found. The young scientist raced to her side, always eager to learn from this mentor – though Booth smiled at the thought that the kid probably had a hero-worship thing going for the good doctor.

Booth found himself drawn to the way Brennan’s eyes lit up with exuberance as she explained the significance of what she’d found, and how she practically glowed when Zack caught on. She was a good teacher, even without an abundance of social graces. Booth suddenly frowned.

How long had he been standing there, staring at his partner? She was oblivious, of course, but he suddenly wondered who Brennan was weaving a spell over. The evidence…or him?

Booth rubbed the back of his neck, a slightly agitated gesture he realized – but he needed to get a handle on his emotions. They were in the middle of a case, a murder, most likely – and letting his mind wander off onto tangents about his partner weren’t going to help. No matter how much he thought the light from the table seemed to make her skin glow in a certain eye-catching way.

Resident conspiracy theorist and forensic entomologist Jack Hodgins sauntered up to the table beside Zack, throwing a glance toward Booth in the corner.

“Insect activity in and around the body say the victim was placed in that elm tree at least three weeks ago. I reverse-dated the life cycle from the hatched eggs I found in the soil in the hollow trunk,” he paused and looked over at Booth, “And if the loitering FBI guy would like to stop staring over here like a _freak_ and actually _join_ us, he might learn cause of death. Maybe some other helpful details of this murder…”

Booth had to mentally shake himself back into the land of the living, clearing his throat and hoping he didn’t look as foolish as he felt, as Brennan and Zack’s heads snapped up from the table to stare at him.

He strode up, glaring at Hodgins. “I was running through some of the points of the case, in my head, before I saw the evidence.”

“Uh-huh,” Hodgins drawled, smirking, “Don’t hurt yourself with that _thinking_ thing, man.”

Hodgins quickly stepped back a few feet as Booth squared his shoulders, glaring menacingly at the squint and moved around the table. Hodgins was a smart-ass, but he knew when to give the FBI agent a wide birth – and he relinquished his spot next to Brennan to a hulking Booth.

Still fixing Hodgins with a cold stare, Booth directed his question to his partner. “What’ve you got?”

Brennan looked up. “Female, Caucasian. Around early thirties, I’d think. Died around three weeks ago, based off Hodgins’ findings.”

“Ah yes…my lovely little _Attagenus_ _unicolor_! You can accomplish so much while still so young.” Hodgins crooned, fondly gazing at his specimen jar.

Booth narrowed his eyes at the ‘bug man,’ wincing. “Dude. Who’s the freak now?”

Hodgins opened his mouth to lob a reply, as Booth smugly crossed his arms over his chest with a taunting grin, when Brennan spoke up.

“Actually,” she said loudly enough to break up the bickering, “They’re flesh-eaters, Booth…and they give us a time of death. They’ve also cleaned the body fairly well, enough that I can determine cause of death.”

“Which is…?”

“She was beaten to death. Savagely.” Brennan’s eyes met Booth’s, locking in a mutual understanding. Booth could see the wheels cranking in his partner’s mind – running the scenarios, and perhaps even falling back on her mother’s murder. Her mother may not have been beaten as savagely as this poor woman, but the similarities of a woman being dumped in a makeshift tomb and left alone, couldn’t be ignored.

Brennan’s eye blazed for a second, cold fury mixed with sadness – Booth knew she was fixated on this case now. She’d find the person who beat this woman to death and stuffed her in a tree…come Hell or high water.

‘_That’s my Bones,’_ he thought wryly, before turning back to the case.

“Fractures of the Zygomatic arches in the face, spiral fractures of the wrists and ulna, four cracked ribs…Booth, these are all indicative of spousal abuse.” She said solemnly.

“Well, let’s not jump ahead here, Bones…”

“Jump ahead? I’m following the evidence here Booth!” Brennan stepped into his personal space, her scent assaulting his senses for a moment as she squared off to him.

Booth held up a hand of entreaty, “I’m just saying…let’s find out who this woman is first, okay? Jeeze, we don’t even know if she has a husband yet, let alone if he beats her! Don’t let this get emotional for you-”

“Emotional!” Brennan cut him off, and he knew he’d stumbled onto a soft spot. Booth winced as he prepared for the verbal assault to follow. “I’m not _emotional_, Booth…I’m being _logical_. Someone tried to beat this woman’s face in. They tried to wring her arms off at the wrist, that’s where the spiral fractures came from, and the cracked ribs probably came from being kicked in the sides. This was personal.”

Booth could see his partner already replaying the stages of the attack in her mind, and it pulled at his heart. She’d been through so much already, a case as heart-twisting as this was not what she needed. The fact that she was ranting at him, so soon, and ready to kick in someone’s door told Booth she was still on the dregs of the emotional rollercoaster of past weeks.

Zack awkwardly held up a small bag of personal effects found with the body and tentatively said, “Actually, we _do_ know she was married.”

Booth spied the small gold wedding band within the plastic bag – and turned back to Brennan. Her lips formed a thin line of frustration.

“We still need a _name_ before we go busting down doors.” He said quietly, trying to reign in his own burgeoning frustration.

Brennan and Booth were still facing off – the air between them seeming to vibrate like the shimmer of heat off a sun-scorched sidewalk – when Angela Montenegro bounded up the stairs. Sketch book in hand, Angela was the Jeffersonian’s forensic artist. She, along with her science-fiction-esque hologram program, where often instrumental in recreating causes of death, as well as putting a face to the skeleton. Irreverent and quick-witted, Angela loved nothing more than finding ways to pull the rug out from under her friends – and though Brennan stodgily refused the implication, Angela loved to rib the doctor about her ‘_hottie_ _FBI agent partner_’.

Angela stopped short upon seeing the scene playing out before her, a slow Cheshire-cat smile creeping across her features.

“_MY_!...but isn’t it hot in here? Light a match and the sexual tension would just explode!” she said happily.

Both Booth and Brennan gave her a withering look.

“What? Oh…please! Keep on riding that ‘_denial’_ train, you two!” She waved them off dismissively. “Meanwhile, I think I’ve put a face you our victim.”

She held up the sketch, as Brennan moved to study it, Booth breathed a sigh of relief when the electric sensations bombarding his body at her proximity faded.

“Good. I’ll run it through Missing Persons,” he said.

“Sweetie,” Angela said, sliding up beside Booth and handing him a photocopy with the victim’s face staring back at him, “I am so far a head of you, it’s scary.”

* * *

The case unfolded rather unremarkably, allowing Booth and Brennan time together as they followed leads and questioned suspects. Predictably, Booth knew he was going to have to concede that Brennan was right about her spousal abuse theory. They’d been to meet the ‘grieving’ husband once, and Booth’s famous gut was telling him from the moment they walked into the man’s house, this was their guy. Brennan must have picked up on Booth’s tension, because she kept watching him during the interview – as if she was actually the one afraid he’d fly off the handle.

‘_Ironic’_, he thought.

As they drove, the traffic blurring into a continuous stream beside them – Booth’s mind wandered back to Arlington Cemetery, a few weeks into the past. He was still unsure how all of those ghosts seemed to spill from his lips in Bones’ presence so easily. Booth’s history in the Army Rangers was something he kept under guarded lock and key – afraid of the complications that could arise if people knew what all he’d done. He’d been uneasy letting bits and pieces come out around Bones, of all people. He’d seen her devotion to the dead and heard how she’d spent huge chunks of time in war-torn countries trying to bring to piece and justice to the victims of many an assassination.

Booth swallowed involuntarily, wondering if any of his former targets had found their way into Bones’ hands. He pushed that thought away though, as he glanced over at his partner. She was staring quietly out the window, and he could almost feel the sensation of her hand on his, that day in the cemetery. She’d accepted him and the dark shadows of his past actions that day. She’d accepted them, listened – and even comforted him. She’d known that wasn’t who he really was inside. Her eyes had been so attentive, so understanding of the fact that while he’d done some monstrous things – that he’d killed more times than he could count – those actions had killed a little piece of his soul.

Every single time.

Bones hadn’t said much, which had surprised Booth. She didn’t offer a scientific antidote, nor did she dismiss his guilt as something ‘deserved’. Brennan held onto him, and allowed him the same favor. Booth felt his insides warm (in more ways than one) with the memory of her skin on his – even if it _was_ only brief.

Later, as the case wound around to its inevitable conclusion – to which Bones couldn’t help but remind Booth that she’d predicted that day in the lab – Bones found herself staring into the cold, unrepentant eyes of the victim’s abusive husband. Booth had just tricked a confession out of him, a feat that didn’t fail to impress Brennan, since she’d been initially aghast when she’d heard Booth sound like he was agreeing with the man’s assessment of “the problem with wives these days”.

“That is one twisted bastard.” Booth muttered as the husband was wrenched from his seat in the interrogation room by the guards and taken away.

As he gathered the photos and files strewn on the table before him, he peered over his shoulder at his partner, standing in the corner of the interrogation room with one hand fiddling with the beads of her chunky necklace.

“Almost makes a person wonder why people even get married these days.” Her voice held a contemptuous tone that caught Booth off guard. “I mean, if lies, deceit and eventual hatred and abuse are the products of marriage…I can understand why the divorce rate is as high as it is.”

Booth could see her jaw twitch as she hastily turned toward him and made a display of straightening papers, while shaking her head scornfully. He winced internally, knowing this again, was a little bit of Temperance being shown. Her years of mistrust and walled-off self-reliance, her misgivings about laying portions of herself out for others to scrutinize, were not unfounded. Hearing the coldness in her voice did cause an aching twinge to prick Booth’s heart, and he felt the need to put the papers down and come to face his evasive partner.

“C’mon Bones,” he tried, “When it’s with the right person…marriage doesn’t have to be like that. It can be a beautiful experience.”

Brennan looked up at Booth from under a cynically arched brow. “I know you want to romanticize things Booth, but there was nothing beautiful about what he did to his wife. Someone he was supposed to love…to trust. Isn’t that what it means to take those vows?”

She looked back down at the papers, shunning the painfully sympathetic look in Booth’s eyes. Sometimes, he just let emotions cloud the reality that love doesn’t conquer all. For an FBI agent, who deals with the monsters of humanity every day, her partner often confounded her with flights of fanciful romanticized ideals of love and trust.

‘_He just doesn’t get it…’_ she thought.

Brennan was startled when a strong hand came to rest on her shoulder – her eyes flew up to meet the depthless dark eyes of her partner, as he gazed gently down on her. His hand had sought her out of its own accord, and before Booth’s mind caught up with it, he’d reached out to his partner. He knew she’d been burned by the tricky business of trust in her fellow man (not to mention those who were supposed to care for her) – but that didn’t mean everyone was like that. _He_ wasn’t like that.

“Not everyone is out to hurt you, Bones.” Booth’s voice was almost a whisper, head bent toward her, his breath lightly playing over her cheek. “Not every guy beats his wife. Not every wife ends up lying and cheating on her family. Some people actually mean it…when they let others know they care about them. Some people find that life is a lot fuller, when you let yourself trust someone.”

Brennan stood motionless, letting his words sink in, and feeling his hand slip down her shoulder – passing lightly over her arm. The touch was almost a caress, tender and comforting – the steely cold she’d allowed into her being while the case was going on, melted away. Brennan knew what Booth was trying to tell her, even if the stubborn part of her brain still clung to the facts and figures associated with divorce and spousal abuse. For once, she decided not to argue with him – the heat smoldering deep within his eyes at the moment was beginning to rob her of coherent speech as it was.

Booth couldn’t describe the feeling of his hand sliding down her arm. His entire being was infused within her cool blue eyes, as though telepathy was the new form of communication, and he was willing her to try to understand what ‘giving of one ’s self’ meant… what it could mean to both of them.

There he was, in the middle of the Bureau, staring into Brennan’s eyes and damning all the proprieties of partner-ish behavior to Hell.

A touch of a smile pulled at Brennan’s lips, as she raised an eyebrow.

“If people only knew what a huge romantic you are,” her tone had lightened, teasing.

Booth chuckled, letting his hand hover mere inches over hers. “Yeah…well, you can’t tell anyone…or I’d loose all of my badass FBI rep. I have to keep up the façade of being a hard-ass jerk, ya know. The perps have to fear me.” He grinned.

Brennan cocked her head to the side and smiled.

“Wow. That’s a _façade_?” She replied, baldly incredulous.

Booth leaned toward her, narrowing his eyes with a sly smile, about to throw back a suitably sarcastic retort, when the shrill ring of a cell phone cut him off. Brennan’s hand, which had been so close to Booth’s – their knuckles nearly touching – slid from the near-warmth of his presence, retrieving the cell from her pocket.

“Brennan. Oh. Hi, David.”

Booth made no effort to hide when he rolled his eyes. ‘_Perfect timing…’ _he all but said aloud.

Listening to everything Brennan said to the _snooze-fest_ she called her ‘sometimes’ boyfriend, Booth finished clearing the table – his mind wandering back to the feeling of his hand on Brennan’s arm and damning the fact that David had ever had access to a cell phone and Bones’ number.

“Yes,” Bones said, sneaking a glace at Booth’s back and how he’d visibly tensed when David’s name was mentioned. “No…no I haven’t forgotten about dinner tonight.”

Booth’s head snapped to the side at the dinner comment, watching her out of the corner of his eye while he made his way to the door. He paused, heaving a sigh as though waiting for her to precede him out the door, and her phone call was taxing his time. Or, perhaps, taxing his patience.

“Yes. That’s fine, David. No…I’ll meet you there, if that’s okay.” Brennan hastily ended the call when she saw Booth’s free hand go to rest at his hip – a stance she knew to be the one he took when his patience was waning. They had paperwork to do, she knew, and apparently…Booth had had enough of David taking up their time.

\-----------------

Booth hated the niggling feeling in his gut that felt an awful lot like jealousy as he made his way to the Medico-Legal lab the next night. Surely, he wasn’t jealous! No…it had to be simple concern for his partner and friend’s well-being. Even if the guy she was purported to have gone on a date with _was_ an irritating suck-up wimp – about as exciting as watching grass grow - his only concern was Bones’ happiness, wasn’t it? Booth mulled over that query, while ignoring the fact that he was practically flying up the stairs, through the checkpoint toward Bone’s office, chafing at the bit to know what had gone on during that date.

A smile crept across Booth’s face as he spied Bones’ seated at her desk, slumped over papers and pens, her hair falling in a most attractive way across her face. It wasn’t until he came to her doorframe, leaning against it cradling across his chest the folders he’d dug up as an excuse to come see his favorite anthropologist – that he saw the bone-weary fatigue etched across her features.

“Agreed on a rent rate with Goodman for this place yet?” He chuckled, remembering their last late-night conversation in her office.

Brennan looked up from her papers, Booth’s grin infectiously spreading to her own mouth. “No. Really…I’m about to leave, I just have a few more things to finish up.”

“Uh-huh. Always just that “_five more minutes ma’! ”_ thing, right?”

“I don’t know what that means.” She answered blankly.

Booth shook his head and settled in the chair opposite her desk. “Never mind. I…uh ...brought those files from the Nissen case.”

Brennan looked at the folder curiously, then back at her partner, who was rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

“I didn’t need those ‘til next week, Booth. There was no need in you coming all the way over here at this hour to bring them.”

“Hey…well. You know. I was in the neighborhood.” Booth tried lamely. Looking away from Brennan’s prying stare, he tumbled straight in with, “So…how was your date with…Dave-o-_whatshisname_…?”

Cautiously, he looked up at Brennan from under his brows – a look Brennan was sure Booth had used to get away with _murder,_ with anyone of the _female_ persuasion. It was a little-boyish, half-pleading, half-mischievous look she’d seen him use to allure women into giving up information…and she’d be damned if it wasn’t have some sort of effect on her as well!

‘_Must be the late hour_,’ her inner voice grumbled.

“Actually…uh,” she said, looking away from his appealing grin, “A skull from a 19th century explorer found in the Andes was shipped to me last night. It really was fascinating the way the ice preserved the evidence of foul-play…and I believe…”

“You stood the guy up, didn’t you?” Booth cut in, in a low, knowing voice. His eyes fairly twinkled in mirth, and Brennan wondered why he would be so happy she missed her date.

“No! I called David and explained that this foundation needed answers as soon as possible. That the evidence on the skull was time sensitive, with the rate of thaw…”

Booth chortled. Watching Bones get flustered was a very appealing activity, but knowing David Kiss-ass got left in the lurch was positively making his night marvelous! Still laughing, he made his way to perch on the edged of a defensive Brennan’s desk, looking down at her as she glowered back at him.

“_God_ Bones! Turning a guy down for another guy, who’s been dead for a hundred years!” He ran a hand over his face, smiling. “Wow. What a turn-on. How does that kind of let-down go, by the way…? ‘_Sorry honey, I can’t make dinner…I really, reeeally need to deflesh this ancient skull tonight’_? Oh yeah, I can see that going over really well.”

Brennan crossed her arms, bristling at Booth’s sarcasm. What did he care weather or not she saw David, or what she did with her spare time, anyway?

“He is very understanding of the importance of my work, Booth.” Bones stood to be at eye level with her snarky partner. “And honestly, I don’t know why you care so much, one way or the other…”

Booth sobered at that comment, clearing his throat uncomfortably and tried to find a not-too-revealing response. “Oh, I don’t care. I don’t care if you see Davy-boy or not.”

Then he added in a low mutter, not intending Brennan to hear, “Just wonderin’ when the guy’s gonna take a hint, is all.”

Brennan had thankfully turned her back to him, so he didn’t see the inscrutable look that flitted across her features as she heard his muttering. Booth sighed heavily, deciding to lay his proverbial cards on the table.

“Look, Bones. It’s been a rough few weeks, and the last case was… well…let’s just say that wouldn’t have been my first choice for you to have to work so soon after your mother’s–”

Bones turned and gave him a sharp look.

Booth held his hands up in surrender, his brows furrowed, “Okay, okay! Sorry! I get it - you can handle this…I get it. But…you know Bones, I’m not _completely_ dense – contrary to what you believe. I can see that this is …wearing on you.”

His eyes melted into compassionate dark pools as Bones peeked up at him from under her lashes. “I worry about you.”

Slowly, cautiously he extended his hand to hers; letting it hover an inch or so near it – giving her an out if she so wanted.

Brennan watched his hand for a moment, running all the possibilities if what it meant through a tired brain. Finally she let her hand slip into his, his warmth shocking her system. She marveled silently at the feeling of his strong, calloused hand in hers. She wondered where the calluses came from – years of grueling work over seas, perhaps from holding a sniper rifle for too long. Perhaps from being the protector she knew him to be – innately drawn to stand between innocents, those he cared for… and the evils of this world. Suddenly, Brennan felt the mortar she’d been using to hold herself, her emotions together those past few weeks – crack and chip as the exhaustion washed over her like a wave.

She let out a shaky breath, watching Booth’s fingers entwine with her own. He was feeling her starting to crumble, but he was holding fast. And Brennan knew, from that gentle but firm squeeze, that she could trust him to be there when she fell. When her walls came crashing down about her ears, she knew that Booth would be her tethering line, keeping her from being set adrift. She squeezed his hand for a moment, running her thumb over the muscles across his knuckles.

Booth’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his Bones - his friend - looking so vulnerable again. His heart screamed at him to take her in his arms and hold her until she realized how important she was to him. But he knew that would be too much right now…that it would have to come on her own terms and at the right time – and he was content to savor the feeling of her skin encompassed in his much larger hand. She was opening her doors to him, slowly but surely, and though he sometimes didn’t show it, Booth could be a patient man. He would be patient with her…without question.

For those few moments, alone in her office, two friends held onto each other – every word describing the trust, caring and compassion being translated soundlessly through their connected hands.

Until Angela burst in Brennan’s door, sketches in hand and a confounded look on her face.

“Bren…sweetie, what in the hell are you doing here! My god, I thought you’d be out with David again…steaming up some car windows somewhere. Or, you know…if you’re particularly adventurous, you can always do it on the hood of the car! Its always fun!”

Angela stopped her bawdy rant when she saw the two partners suddenly jerk back from one another, as though electricity suddenly passed through them.

‘_Or, I just broke something up…,_’ Angela thought wryly.

Booth stood up quickly, smoothing a hand over his hair and scowled at Angela. “Bones didn’t make her date with W_hatshisname_ last night. She had work.” His tone was almost defensive, causing a huge grin to split the artist’s face.

“Yeah. I can see that she’s found more _stimulating_ work, right here.” Angela purred. “Why go out when hunkier pastures are right here…in front of your face?” Angela leered at Booth, “Desk _nookie_ has always been on my top ten list.”

“Ange!” Brennan breathed, embarrassed and trying not to blush. Though the term ‘nookie’ didn’t quite register, she had an idea what it meant coming from Angela.

Angela flopped the sketches on Brennan’s desk. “Oh sweetie, un_clench_. All you had to do was lock the door and draw the shades, no problem! Food for thought for next time! Anyway, here are those sketched you wanted.”

While Brennan filed the sketches away, Booth had collected himself finally and asked, “So, why are you here so late, Ange? No hot date waiting on a _Harley Davidson_ outside for you?”

“No, he’ll be coming to sweep me away on his giant, loud, leather vibrator tomorrow.”

Booth cleared his throat a little too loudly, looking away, trying not to flush and mentally waging war to keep _THAT_ image out of his head. Brennan’s mouth had gone slack in astonishment, but she recovered. Angela’s outbursts of sexual hedonism shouldn’t have surprised her after this long.

“C’mon guys,” Angela said, “Let’s go have some drinks, and contemplate why alcohol is frowned upon in the work place.”

Brennan frowned. “It’s not appropriate. People wouldn’t be able to work properly in an alcoholic stupor…”

“Sweetie? Kidding.”

“Oh,” Bones mumbled.

Booth chuckled as Angela began shuffling Brennan towards the door. “You two go ahead, I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

“What’s a matter, Booth? Too much estrogen for ya so late at night?” Angela teased.

“Something like that.” Booth grinned. “Go on, Bones. You need to go have some down time.”

There was a slight timber of disappointment in his voice, as Booth realized he would have much preferred taking Bones out himself - alone. After their moment was disrupted, he found that he didn’t want to share Bones right then…he wanted her all to himself, to continue their silent parley. But Angela would take care of her; maybe get her to loosen up. He could be patient.

At the door, Brennan turned back to her FBI partner. He stood, hands in his pockets, regarding her with gentle eyes – a soft smile on his lips. She returned the smile, silently thanking him for their moment and hoping they could continue this talk later. The solid heat of his hand still tingled on her skin, constant and secure. His touch would linger for a long time, Brennan knew.

And while he tried to muddle through his raging feelings, Booth felt a similar warm tingle remaining on the skin of his hand. He would remember this as the night his partner, used _touch_…instead of words…to communicate with him.

And it had been a wonderfully illuminating _conversation_.

** END **


End file.
